


Living Canvas

by YogurtTime



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Paint, Body Worship, Frottage, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/YogurtTime
Summary: Maru, Ueda’s now discovered, is a canvas of lines and grooves on which he only itches to make deep impressions.





	Living Canvas

 

_‘There is love in your body but you can't hold it in_  
_It pours from your eyes and it spills from your skin_  
_Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks….’_

 

 

 

It’s during a break in rehearsal that Maru crouches down beside Ueda to tie his shoe lace.

His back is turned, spine bent. Ueda observes how Maru’s white shirt and the breathing swell of his chest looks quite like an inviting bare sheet of stationary.

Ueda reaches out a fingertip and pokes at first and Maru twists around with a fleeting questioning look.

“Guess what I’m writing,” Ueda murmurs, tracing on a whim.

The fabric sinks deeply under his finger, reaching the impression of heat from Maru’s back. His fingertip trips over the bumps of Maru’s spine. Muscles tense and it’s instantly so much more magical than simply running a brush along a stiff, unmoving textile like paper.

“Your name is strangely easy to recognise,” Maru mutters after barely a moment, tossing him a second look, oddly blazing under the neutrality of his calm gaze.

Ueda had hated calligraphy class when he was young.

He had hated the memorisation and the toil of it, learning strokes and coming home with ink on his fingers because as much as the instructor told him he wasn’t meant to spill, the ink still managed to get everywhere on him, especially on his hands and wrists.

Sometimes, only _sometimes_ he’s found he remembers the rules, though; stroke order and the frayed flicks of ink on the edges. How the ink smelled as intoxicating as gasoline. Maru and his skin is that sometimes.

 

 

Maru takes a keen interest in drawing. Because he’s always doodling something, goopy creatures on the edges of magazine Q&A sheets, wonky-looking people and weird beings (naming some of them Ueda).

Maru catches him drawing something, and as always he leans over Ueda’s shoulder, weight of both breath and presence. _Then_ only Maru can say something as callous as “How terrible,” and still sound sensitive like he’s reassuring Ueda of something. It’s just in that smile.

When Ueda draws, it’s usually round scribbled notes on the bars of his sheet music. In these, there is control, contours and specific spots for breaks. Otherwise…

Otherwise, he writes lyrics on paper and often has to scratch words out when they don’t quite fit the flow of his stanzas.

And Ueda does _try_ doodling on actual pages. It drives him up the wall. He’s come to so detest putting things on paper without lines. It feels unresponsive and without meaning. And he ends up digging the pen until the ink soaks the fibers of the page and splits it; frayed fringed wound of dark blue. Pages. Pages are all the same.

 

 

As time passes from this discovery, during moments when he’s about to sleep, Ueda tries not to think why he’d trace _his_ name on Maru’s spine. Or even why it bothered him that the indent smoothened the moment his fingers fell away; how Maru laughed at his silent, nonplussed expression.

He _does_ think, helplessly, of scraping his fingers up Maru’s trouser leg. Just because. He’d press deep like he’s trying to twist the threads in the opposite direction, turn them towards him.

Maru would hiss it, like he wants no one else to hear, “Deeper.” Ah, and it sounds like Maru, in Ueda’s head. Has the right intonation and enough pleading in the pitch.

Ueda bites his pillow. And resolves with each squeeze of his fingers on himself how that’d never, _ever_ happen.

 

 

 

 

_‘There is love in your body but you can’t get it out_  
_It gets stuck in your head; won’t come out of your mouth_

 

 

He’s not sure it’s entirely this physical need to press or poke or if it’s just to get his fingers touching whatever his body is curious about. It’s Nakamaru. And it just goes downhill from there.

Ueda keeps etching the pad of his index finger along grooves, pretending he has something to say while Maru shivers when he dips too deep. Just from the way he wrinkles the fabric of Maru’s shirts makes him sometimes want to trail against the hemlines. _Accidentally_.

And for some reason, Maru never seems to mind.

One time he traces a circular pattern on Maru’s shoulder with his fingernail, and Maru sends him a side-long look mid-conversation. Ueda begins to hate that Maru wears a lot of long-sleeved shirts. It reminds him of the way girls will superfluously wear leggings. Pisses him right off.

He knows how weird it is; he _knows_ and yet, even when Maru’s not even paying attention to him—still seated beside him-- Ueda can’t quite stop himself from trying to trace something simple—katakana under the table --on the top of Maru’s knee. Maru’s kneecap, while suitably hard, is also surprisingly delicate. Ueda flattens his finger to soften the dig of it. Maru looks at him quickly and Ueda feels the tension riddle up Maru’s leg with the flex of his thigh under his poly-blend trousers. It’s really like inking a soft sculpture.

The others are talking and Maru inclines his head the other way, reaching down as if meaning to bat Ueda’s fingers away, but his palm hovers, trembling slightly, just as Ueda reaches the last arch and they both pause.

Maru still looks distracted, paying ear to whatever the others are saying. Ueda’s simply waiting. Waiting for Maru’s fingers to close on his; to stop him because gods help him, he can’t stop himself.

Someone says something funny because Maru laughs, hand coming back up to rest on the table. When things quiet down, he feels Maru look at him. Ueda draws Maru’s inquisitive expression in a dark alcove in his mind and refuses to meet Maru’s actual reading gaze.

His curiosity is the only thing keeping him from not wanting more. If he could keep pretending it’s an unconscious thing. An unthinking habit…

 

 

Maru, Ueda’s now discovered, is a canvas of lines and grooves on which he only itches to make deep impressions. Ueda feels like every word on Maru would look perfect. He pictures wet, gleaming lines of ink and elongated characters that could drip on and on and _down_ to the very vulnerable cut of Maru’s tailbone. That the words would stay there, always, for Ueda to see.

When it’s only his fingers, the very moment he stops touching him, it’s like every sign of him just vanishes. The creases in Maru’s clothes disappear and the dimples he pushes into Maru’s back, arms and ankles smooth into his original canvas form.

He’s known Maru for years. The touching thing isn’t new. Nor are the reactions he keeps getting. When they were younger, Maru had never hesitated before grabbing at Ueda’s arm, poking him to get his attention. Maru would do things like step right up in his space like all the air in and around Ueda belonged to him.

Oxygen thief.

Then, recently, Maru’s hands on his shoulders, fingers running up the bristly texture of the hair on his head before it grew. How even the lift of Maru’s always serene smile felt against his shoulder when they’d shove at each other on occasion, firm frame to frame contact.

There was even that one time in Hokkaido. Ueda had fallen asleep in their hotel room and woke up to Maru stretched on the opposite side of the bed, watching television, absently playing petals of lavender along Ueda’s ankle.

It’s _not_ Ueda’s fault; it’s Maru that inspires so much of those types of wants in him. Usually wants he can’t really name nor have.

 

 

 

 

_Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face_  
_but the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste…’_

 

 

During the Spring, Maru’s bare skin escalates possibilities of words.

Maru starts to roll his sleeves up, then, when he’s working; even just for note-taking and Ueda is aware of how quickly he notices it. Maru’s skin is heat against cold surfaces. Ueda feels like it’s especially visible and he just _has_ to look. He has to see the delicate line on the inside of Maru’s wrist and the flex running upward and disappearing under those annoying sleeves. Blank spaces Ueda can’t reach.

If Ueda were going to draw on the crook of Maru’s arm, he’d stroke out the word for how this feels.

Drawing the shapes of the things that keep them separate, he uses a felt tip dry marker on Maru’s forearm, traces up a speed-bump of a vein quickly like he hadn’t meant to. Like people just happen to graze each other with ink.

Maru makes a sound under his breath. It’s a sharp and soft noise from deep in his throat like a held breath released in the tiniest percussive and that’s so...

Ueda tries to laugh it off. It’s a joke anyway. And Maru surveys the short shape of black on the inside of his wrist. Rubs a thumb in a sudden circle over it and only spreads the ink, smudging a neat cloud over a stretch of skin.

Ueda stares at the way Maru’s lower lip is wet from the way he sucks it in. He opens his mouth to say something and Ueda caps the pen quickly and looks away.

“It’s a white board marker. A damp cloth will get it out,” Ueda mutters, reaching for a pile of paper napkins on the other end of the table, determined to get it out. Erase it and pretend this isn’t the very epitome of the way he wants to be indelible on Maru’s skin.

“It’s fine,” Maru replies quietly and he rolls his sleeve up a little further, Ueda sees the slip of white out of the corner of his eye and tries to breathe evenly. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

They’re not even alone right now. Staff all over the place and people coming in and out of the room. God dammit.

He sees Maru play his own fingers over the stain again and again as the day goes on and Ueda can only do so much to stem the label he desperately needs to put to the sight of those fingers pressing at dusty stains.

 

 

Ueda thinks about the ink stains when he’s about to go to sleep. He thinks of the steady, naked colour of Maru’s fingers, pressing the deep blue ink spots pale and the dark curve of his shirts sleeves, folded up and his lips all dark-bitten. The sound he’d made.

Ueda even remembers parts of those seconds in the meeting room he hadn’t registered then. Like how warm the room was and how Maru’s gaze might have looked.

There are details he invents like his own fingerprints littered up Maru’s arms, sneaking under the un-tucked part of his button-down. He’s skimming bruise-coloured stripes over gooseflesh up Maru’s side until he can reach Maru’s ribs and then again, yeah, again Maru would say it. “Harder.”

Ueda’s very much alone and doesn’t stifle the groan that thought elicits.

 

 

For his art corner in Wink Up, Maru likes to take his drawing to Ueda’s place because he knows Ueda doesn’t mind the mess and after years of this pattern, he’s taken to sprawling on Ueda’s living room floor.

Warm Sundays are naturally lazier and there’s noticeably less clothing involved. Maru seems a lank, tousled thing, hemlines curved over bare calves, made up of all this inviting negative space. He’s unshaven and rough on edges he doesn’t typically show to many people. Shorts, sleeves rolled up like he means to soak up every ounce of cool air from the A/C.

Ueda has to lie between the papers all over his floor so he can watch television quietly with Maru, now asleep near the sliding screen door. He’s breathing in steady sleep-heavy inhales, spread-eagled under strips of sunlight like a cat amidst bottles of black Indian ink, pencils and thin paper.

Ueda picks up one of the unused brushes, and plays the dry soft strands in his palm, already wondering what’d happen if he just reached over...

As Ueda glances at Maru, he sees the glint under Maru’s eyelashes, gazing. He’s still half awake, watching Ueda with a quiet sleepy smile.

“You’re not asleep,” Ueda states.

Maru rests the back of his forearm over his head, unmoving. “Mm. Since it’d be just like you to want to draw on my face while I’m sleeping,” he drawls smugly. “Caught you, didn’t I?”

Ueda chances a glance at the way Maru’s chest and stomach expand with his slow, lazy breaths. It makes Ueda want to curse him out for lying around, and being so aggravatingly evocative all the time.

The scent of ink is still as cloying as the toxicity of gasoline. Ueda can smell it coming off of the open bottle of ink by Maru’s bag. There’s a stain on Maru’s index finger from where he’d gripped his pen too tightly. Ueda stretches out to dip just the very tip of the brush strands into Maru’s ink. “Yeah, you caught me.”

Maru’s laugh is husky. “I don’t really use the brushes for any of my line art. I’m guessing you’ll do the drawing, won’t you?”

Ueda smiles. He knows Maru is joking but he’s so near and so still, and Ueda is holding up the wet paintbrush, watching Maru’s eyes follow it. “What would they say?” Ueda tuts.

“Depends on what you’d draw,” Maru replies, stifling a yawn as he stretches his whole frame, making a faint aching noise that he probably isn’t aware sounds just that filthy. Ueda watches the waistline of Maru’s khaki shorts dip low. He is a pale sienna right above his tight elastic red underpants, a bit lighter than the parts Ueda sees all the time. There could be an ink line following right where his hip bone curves...

“Depends, yeah,” Ueda says. He can’t help that he grins wider. He’s got that curl in his gut and he knows he’s about to do something very silly. Hopefully just silly.

Maru gives him a brief suspicious search of a look. He looks like an alert creature suddenly, as he draws back a little, lips parting. Ueda doesn’t look away as he grips the brush tighter. “Don’t you--“ Maru begins.

The still piles of art paper flood and fly upward and around when Ueda dives for him.

 

 

 

 

_‘My heart swells like a water and wave_  
_Can’t stop myself before it’s too late_  
_Hold on to your heart_  
_‘cause I’m coming to take it._ ’

 

 

Ueda didn’t expect their tussle to last very long but Maru’s at a more advantageous angle and appears to take it as a fight for his life rather than just a playful struggle. Ueda winds up with a knee to his side, heel of a hand against his solar plexus before he topples backward and Maru nearly rolls on top of him. Ueda’s foot shoves now crumpled papers aside just when Maru’s fingers slip and grab at the back of his shirt whilst another hand scrambles over his wrist to hold the paintbrush off and away.

“Ah,” Ueda says a little tremulously, rolling forward, bracing himself on Maru’s thigh.

It’s Maru who laughs first in the struggle, smiling viciously when Ueda has to get to his knees to avoid being rolled over again. He’s soon crouched over Maru, who has both fists curled around Ueda’s forearm, holding the offending paint tool away.

Ueda’s laughing helplessly because if he really tries, he can break out of the hold and Maru will be _so_ sorry.

“I knew you were going to do this the moment you picked up that brush,” Maru says, panting, eyes glimmering with...something.

Ueda feels his insides branded hot with that look. He can also feel the thrum of Maru’s pulse through the harsh clench of his palms and the merciless direct heat of Maru’s skin right under him, touching him. Ueda tries not to move as every inch of him becomes aware of the taut threads of Maru’s body.

Ueda realises he’s just been silently staring, and that Maru’s smile has faded.

“Ueda...” Maru begins. It sounds like the beginning of a lecture but their hands are shaking and Ueda’s not entirely sure whose fault that is.

“Let go,” Ueda whispers. He can feel Maru’s chest rise and fall between his knees and he’s just waiting for him to move first because he doesn’t trust himself right now.

Maru doesn’t let go. The fists of his palms lower, slip down Ueda’s wrist to his forearm; clutching tight like they’re still fighting, but he’s bringing the brush down closer to his throat. There is a still not-breathing moment as the brush tilts downward, quivering bead of ink on its very tip.

The splatter of it is almost silent, a dark, quiet beat-like splash as it lands on Maru’s collarbone. It’s small enough not to drip down but it’s very black against the colour of Maru’s skin. Ueda meets Maru’s gaze and there’s a rueful look there, like for him this is all play and like Ueda’s not about to have a strange form of panic attack.

“Well, what are you going to do about this?” Maru prompts, mouth curving up.

Ueda has to whisper the words so his voice doesn’t betray him. “ _You_ did this.” There’s a bitter taste in the words as they ring in the air. Ueda’s very well aware he means it and yet, that he hadn’t meant to inject that much blame in his tone. Still, this _is_ all Maru’s fault.

Maru’s head falls back to the floor, eyes squinted when he laughs. His whole frame shakes with it and everything between Ueda’s legs trembles. “ _You’re_ the one with the brush,” he chuckles. To punctuate this remark, Maru lets go of Ueda’s wrists and Ueda’s a bit surprised that he only feels the stinging strength of the grip after Maru lets go. The imprint of his fingers stays and Ueda thinks of all the times he’d touched and indented words on Maru and how he’d felt when he stopped, how he’d thought he had vanished every time he let go.

Maru’s staring at Ueda’s red wrist a little hotly. His hands are at his sides, though, with the paintbrush still pointed threateningly at Maru’s collarbone. It’s like something very much alive strikes Ueda’s veins, surging and prickly. “I’d only put more ink on you,” he admits. _Probably write every word I know on you._

“You’ll make a mess of it,” Maru remarks, shrugging inasmuch as their position allows. “Ink all over the carpet.”

“It’s my carpet,” Ueda says quickly. He feels like he’s appealing something and his ears are ablaze. “I’ll use less ink.”

What are they deliberating exactly?

Maru’s worrying at his lower lip. “Then get the ink,” he nods over at his bag by the table, less than a metre away but still a stretch.

Ueda shifts only a little and Maru goes very still. His eyes are searching again, a brief flicker of that…something. “Nice try,” Ueda murmurs, freezing too. Maru is very hot beneath him and Ueda tries to reason that the temperature in the room must be high. Yet, the A/C still hums and it’s now a cooling late afternoon. Still, everything from Ueda’s stomach downward is going warm. _God._

Maru looks suddenly concerned. Or rather, like he’s trying to work out a difficult puzzle, eyes flickering over Ueda above him. “Are you…” Maru finally begins quietly, voice low like it gets sometimes. He doesn’t continue, just fixes his gaze somewhere over Ueda’s shoulder and looks all the more rough and austere with the setting sunshine from outside flooded over him.

Ueda frowns. “Am I what?”

Maru’s throat swells with his thick swallow and then it’s Ueda who has to stop breathing because Maru abruptly stretches under him, arm reaching out as his body slides under Ueda. The move presses hard angles on the inside of Ueda’s thigh, rutting at the crotch of his jeans. Damn. If he doesn’t get off him now…

Maru’s passing him the small bottle, expression carefully neutral. “You’re…” Ueda begins, losing the words just as they pop into his head.

“Would you just…” Maru utters quickly, trailing off when their gazes meet again and their quickened breaths are in sync.

Ueda doesn’t stop to think. He presses his thumb to the little surface-dry droplet, smears it on purpose, dragging between his clavicle and he watches Maru’s irises pool with an abrupt intensity, contrast to his usual neutral reading look and every single dream or daydream Ueda nurses has absolutely nothing on how this _feels_. The shudder of Maru’s pulse; the way he’s looking at him.

The bristles on this paintbrush look like new, still pressed neatly together in a swathe of deep mahogany, but Ueda chooses to _watch_ Maru to see how it feels. He sweeps it dry along the collar of Maru’s button-up shirt and dips the tip down, smiling when Maru takes the deepest of breaths.

He pauses, stretching forward to lick the brush up under Maru’s chin, strands against the barely there bristles of his five o’ clock shadow and Maru tilts his head up when Ueda drags it back down. His gaze is unfocused, trained to the ceiling, but Ueda sees how his breathing slows to shallow. It’s almost as though he’s trying to singularise the sensation, make it the only thing he feels.

Ueda reaches forward with his other hand and unclips the first button. Maru stiffens, gaze fixing directly on him, lips still parted as Ueda’s weight constricts him. He can feel it in the air, the way they’re once again both waiting. Maru watching Ueda go on and Ueda waiting to be stopped. Half in dreams and the other half being the palpable now where Maru’s second button unhooks, then the third and so on.

There is a perspiring gleam on Maru’s naked chest. Ueda unscrews the cap on the ink bottle, slipping the brush in, just the very tip and out of the corner of his eye, Ueda sees Maru’s fingers curl on the carpet. He thinks of words and words and can only stripe a tight, thin zig-zag between Maru’s pectorals.

“What are you writing?” Maru’s voice sounds strange then, trying to be nonchalant. He’s flushed and there’s no way Ueda can imagine going back.

“Does it actually matter?” Ueda returns, his own voice getting caught somewhere in his throat.

Maru shakes his head and fixes a softened, stunned gaze at Ueda when he pushes Maru’s shirt off over his right shoulder and makes a feathering circle. It’s odd how Maru doesn’t even look down at himself, but stares at Ueda brazenly.

It wouldn’t be like that with anyone else. Ueda knows. Maru is usually anything but.

A shudder when he has to shift backward, reach down to Maru’s stomach. He spots the clench of Maru’s abdominal muscles when the black streak of glaring ink trips ripples over those bunched up grooves. Maru whispers a faint curse. Ueda slides off him and doesn’t actually have to cue anything but Maru bends his knees and spreads on his own. Ueda dips into ink again, and then lets a droplet of it touch at the line swooping invitingly to Maru’s waistline. Maru’s thighs tremble for no more than a second when Ueda shifts between them before he seems to gain control again, but he screws his eyes shut. This just serves to make Ueda feel like some kind of predator.

“Are you all right?” he asks quickly, desperately. “I’m not gonna—we can…”

“Just don’t get any of it on my clothes,” Maru just orders abruptly, eyes still shut but brows downturned.

 

 

 

 

_‘Darling heart I loved you from the start_  
_But you’ll never know what a fool I’ve been’_

 

 

Ueda tries to keep his hand steady when he traces a half-circle over Maru’s navel and he can feel every muscle on Maru tense.

“Does it tickle?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What else?”

“It’s cold,” Maru hisses and his lips are wet and flushed.

Ueda paints in slanted small strokes up and down, watching how Maru’s skin seems velveteen. He takes risks and dips close to Maru’s waistline and he can’t help it; he’s hard, but he leans into the ache with each stretch forward. He isn’t even paying attention to drawing anything significant. Maru’s whole chest and stomach is soon vague spider web lines and wrought-designs, like the thin branches of a horror tree. For now, he’s just watching how Maru’s breath hitches and the sounds in his throat he’s trying to hide.

“This doesn’t dry too quickly, does it?” he says, looking at the long curls and patterns now littered over Maru’s naked chest and how his nipples look so pert and lickable now.

Maru seems like he wants to speak, mouth opening and shutting like he doesn’t trust himself to say anything steadily. “Erm…well, I’ve never tried it on skin.” Ueda imagines he means for that to sound dry but it only comes out thick and a little pleading. He’s done for.

Ueda bends low and purses his lips. It doesn’t seem strange to him then to blow dry it. He wants to pass his fingers over where he’s drawn, feel the texture of dry ink and it’s barely distinguishable edges next to the softness of Maru’s skin. He begins to blow softly, from Maru’s navel upward.

Maru makes an immediate garbled sound that’s half a sentence. “God,” Maru says definitively after a moment of carpet-thread grasping and swallowed groans. “ _Tatsuya_

Damn. Damn everything. Ueda says nothing and presses his index finger down on a stroke near Maru’s hip bone. It’s dry enough that the surface of it is smooth. “Beautiful,” Ueda murmurs and he means it more than he has for many other things.

He meets Maru’s gaze when he sits up on his elbows, looking down at Ueda. Only Maru can make uncertainty look so burning. Ueda straightens and knows Maru would have to be completely clueless if he hasn’t noticed how hard Ueda is by now, but in Maru’s case, well, his khakis are too loose…

He makes to brace his palm on Maru’s upraised knee. And his skin is feverish while he’s still watching Ueda; still unmoving and still rigid with what can only be anticipation. Ueda does it. He rakes the very tips of his blunt nails down the inside of Maru’s leg and watches him quiver and then arch and his hand comes up and fists the front of Ueda’s shirt. Maru swears, a caustic word spilling, and the paintbrush drops to the carpet, rolling away because Maru’s pulling him down.

Ueda slides right over him, palm skating up Maru’s chest, curling in dried ink. Maru’s knees press to his sides and Ueda sits in a half-pushup for only seconds before Maru’s cants his hips upward. Ueda falls, diving instinctively down towards contact. Maru’s just as hard and Ueda can almost make out the entire shape of him, but right now it’s casting over his erection and pushing pressure. It singes everything on him, from head to foot and Maru’s eyes are narrow, looking the perfect part of his most touchable want. Ueda’s shaking with it. “God, this is so crazy,” he groans, clenching his teeth and bracing his hands on Maru’s legs.

“Yeah,” Maru agrees in low, inveigled tones, arching again when Ueda’s hips circle. “Don’t stop.”

Ueda grabs for him, right at the tops of his thighs, and presses weight down, making another quick thrust and Maru throws his head back, reaching between them for the buttons on his khakis. Maru hisses something into his mouth before he opens, and Ueda licks deep, scraping his tongue over that wet lower lip. He closes his lips over Maru’s, shuddering as the back of Maru’s fumbling hand grazes his erection in a new much more electrifying way. Ueda traps him there, piercing him with the dig of his cock, needing it, just needing that hot pressure. Maru cuts off a groan with a special bite of his lips, other hand clawing at his shirt like he’s begging for more, sliding ankles up Ueda’s ass and digging in at his tailbone.

“Please,” Maru groans against Ueda’s cheek, breaths burning and wet.

Ueda wants his mouth again when Maru locks him in with his heels, crushing his erection in greedy slides into Ueda’s thigh now. Maru kisses in such a systematically dedicated way and it’s very like him. Ueda’s already enamored with it; the way he meets Ueda’s tongue and cuts off repeatedly anytime they rock together. They must look such a cluster mess there on the floor with Maru’s hand between their legs and Ueda desperately grinding, breaking away to mouth at Maru’s prickly jaw-line.

Ueda bends then, pressing his tongue to an un-inked square between lines at his lower stomach, crazed over the salt taste and how Maru twitches and scrambles. At first it’s a lazy slow process, with Maru soon uttering faint gasping sounds, half words that sound like anything but until Ueda gets to more skin along his side. He forces the shirt upward, still thrusting on the inside of Maru’s thigh while Maru’s fingers curl and clutches his neck, head still thrown back.

“I’ve wanted this so much…for so long.”

For a wild moment, Ueda’s convinced he’s the one who whispered it because they’re the very words on the tip of his tongue. It’s Maru and when Ueda freezes and looks at him, he’s shut his eyes like he’s embarrassed and trying to undo the last second. He looks both mortified and already spectacular fucked all at once and Ueda is surprised at the immediate wash of relief, a rising wave of vindication and the lovely pleasure-risk that grips him.

He’s shaking quite a bit. “Of course you did,” he sighs, irony etched in his own tone. Because _of course._

Maru’s amusement is silent. He lays back, smiling a little complacently, back curving when Ueda darts out a tongue and touches at those spaces between the black patterns. Maru groans, hand still at his waist, fingers so close to the bulge now very visible in his half-opened khakis. Ueda licks downward to clear, hot skin and nuzzles right over the protruding fabric, breathing hotly and kissing. All thought seems to go still inside Ueda then when Maru lets out a weak, tremulous sound and starts to writhe under him.

Maru reaches down and uses both hands to undo the buttons of his shorts. As he shifts, Ueda straightens to his knees and they get into a bit of a gasping struggle while Maru twists, kicking his shorts to as far as his thighs and Ueda pushes his own jeans down. Maru turns over in the effort to slide out of his shirt and Ueda slips his fingers under the waistband of Maru’s underpants, already dropping wet kisses down his spine. Maru hisses and rocks back against him, running a softer contact to Ueda’s cock.

Ueda thinks he utters a curse with deep conviction as Maru falls forward, forehead pressed to his arm, knees spread and Ueda doesn’t want to pull away, not even to get his jeans off his legs. His cock presses right to silky skin and Maru whispers a plea. He looks wrecked, his shirt off one arm, shorts to his knees, splayed and rocking. Ueda’s ruts up against him, the arch of his cock slipping over Maru’s sensitive crease, fingers braced to Maru’s ribs, mouthing along his shoulder blades.

He could come like this. With Maru’s caustic moans underneath him, muffled to his fist and the way he’s bent and tucked not quite in him. Like this he can feel every fricative of Maru’s body and the tenuous flesh of his rim. The way he shakes and arches back is like he’s all ready to be opened and filled. Ueda has to clench his teeth to Maru’s skin and breathe shallowly, forcing himself to pause. He groans reluctantly, holding Maru still.

“Bedroom,” he says and Maru nods before his shaking knees collapse under him once Ueda lets go. Ueda withdraws to kick off his jeans and pick himself up off the floor. His own legs are shaking and when Maru stands up, he’s a perfect mess of even further tousled hair, naked from the waist down, lips bitten and an array of ink patterns. Maru won’t let him go so they’re a stumbling mess as Ueda backs toward the bedroom, now exploring the inside of his mouth.

And to cap it off, the way he looks directly at Ueda each time he pulls back to avoid crashing into anything. Soft-eyed, dazed and a little predatory. He’s a contradictory crisis and Ueda isn’t surprised when Maru leans forward and nibbles right on him, teeth scraping just on the corner of his lip, hips so startlingly bare over his, quickening their progress to the bedroom with his stumbling kisses, moaning brushes and fumbles for contact.

They barely make it to the room. Ueda’s aim is for his dresser drawer and with Maru pushing his shirt off his shoulders as he backs up, they collide with it and the mirror over it rattles.

Maru pauses, resting his hands on the dresser surface, looking at himself in the dusky sunlight of the afternoon; his gaze rakes over the curves, lines and swirls of ink all over his chest and downward. Ueda stands half-behind him, sees them reflected. It’s a little telling, how the web of it seems to be pointing in a specific direction downward and at Maru’s deliberately stupefied expression, reaching up to touch himself in startled awe, Ueda tries to stifle the smirk but only winds up pressing it to Maru’s shoulder.

“Well, you’ve improved,” Maru says in that particularly neutrally reassuring way but his eyes are hooded and Ueda snakes his fingers around his hips, opening the drawer to their right as he dips his hand down to cup and massage him; to skirt his palm a little abruptly over Maru’s cock. He’s instantly gratified when Maru’s fingernails curl in on the dresser’s wood and his lips part, eyes widening and pupils blown into full black as he watches from the mirror.

Maru rocks back against him again as Ueda fists his cock while sucking a stripe up his throat. Not a little awed at how Maru tilts his head, baring his neck to Ueda and regarding him now almost languidly through his reflection, eyes so very dark.

He has to tip the bottle of lube one-handed into his other palm, gritting his teeth every time Maru slides back against him and leans heavily into his fist, the head of his cock slipping through his fingers. Ueda watches him in the reflection. Maru seems bent on keeping his eyes open, looking bleary and evocatively hopeful, even as they narrow each time Ueda rushes his fist up his cock. He begins to spread him apart, fingers twisted, watching Maru suck in his lower lip and make a soundless groan that Ueda would’ve missed if he hadn’t been looking. He digs in, first finger and Maru bends forward, beautiful hands splaying along the sides of the dresser.

“H-here?” Maru mumbles and Ueda smiles against his neck.

“Yeah. I wanna watch you,” he breathes, pressing himself against the back of Maru’s thigh, unable to keep from shuddering up on him.

“Tatsuya,” Maru hisses and the dresser is definitely going to have visible scratches all over the top.

Watching Maru makes it all worth it for that one sizzling second when Ueda thrusts into him for the first time. The way he spreads his legs and usually neutral gaze goes detailed with fire. Distress, thirst, worship all a-blaze and it’s a second Ueda won’t ever forget. He’s so warm inside and Ueda’s already madly close. There’s only so much he can do to hang on to Maru’s hips, wrap one arm around him and rock inward. Maru sobs all these not-words and he’s a taut cord under him, twisting up and arching, silk insides closing on him in burning swallows.

Maru’s braced on the dresser but it tips against the wall with each of Ueda’s thrusts, the sound of it a rattling pattern to their breathing. Ueda speeds up, twisting to get in deeper and Maru only spreads wider for him, mouth slack but still watching with a near raw wonder at the sight of them, of Ueda’s fist still working him and the kick of their hips grinding together. Ueda’s hands slide up and grip Maru at the ribs, digging hard, and it only makes Maru’s groans deeper as he clenches his teeth.

“Tell me you want it deeper,” Ueda says, gasping it against the back of Maru’s ear. “Please, I need—“

“Deeper,” Maru hisses, lust-blown gaze fixed on him, and it’s so much more mind-blowing to hear it like that, hard inside him, feeling Maru clench around him as he says it. Maru’s spine bends like he’s overcome and he doubles up, voiced gasps shaken out of him. Ueda feels the throb of Maru’s cock and the way he’s shaking tells Ueda he’s close.

It riddles up him in a shock surprise, blinding him with white as his veins seem seized with it. As it arces through his every sense, he goes rigid. He forces Maru further forward as he speeds up, having to grind harder with the way he’s tight. It defeats him like an implosion and Maru’s rocking harder, head bowed and groaning, ‘yes’s’ spilling from his lips. He means to pull out before he comes, but Maru closes his fingers on his arm, sliding down to grab at his hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing around him. Ueda ends up clutching him tighter, forehead pressed to his collar, as it finally hits him, the full glaze of it deep inside Maru.

Maru utters a soft sound and finally looks up at him in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hand still working himself with Ueda still pressed up inside him. Ueda’s caught in a vivid second, watching the full development of Maru about to come. The way the taut, decorated surface of his chest and stomach clenches and how he bites his lips, eyes slipping shut. Ueda, still in his afterglow, shudders from it, feeling vibrations flood up him when Maru makes a desperate, cloying sound and spills into his hand, body rocking from shock. Ueda braces himself as Maru slumps back against him, thoroughly dazed by how artful that had looked

They remain bent over the dresser, Ueda catching his breath, fully euphoric and not a little light-headed. Maru sighs and makes to twist while Ueda pulls out. Ueda thinks to say something, but Maru cuts him off, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck before leaning in, still breathless. “You know, you've put me in _such_ a state, Ueda,” he says quite dourly.

Even in the hazy ripple of afterglow, Ueda’s middle goes tight. He reaches up, running fingers over the now very dry ink lines, smiling when Maru tenses as he nears his nipples. "You should've said something then."

Maru grimaces, sifting fingers in his hair like he's straightening it. He leans close, sighing, and Ueda can feel his lips form a smile right under his ear. He presses it gingerly, lightly, and if Ueda weren't extremely sensitive right now, he might not have felt it at all. Still, it feels like he's left a mark, more indelible than ink.

 

 

_Darling heart I loved you from the start_  
_But that’s no excuse for the state I’m in’_

 

 


End file.
